


Some Light Mischief

by FictionPenned



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Gen, Golden Age (Narnia), Slice of Life, Talking Animals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:07:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26130880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FictionPenned/pseuds/FictionPenned
Summary: She hurries past open gates and propped doors and hears the roar of a blacksmith’s shop and the clopping of hooves as she passes a group of centaurs. There’s a young faun couple pressed into the tight space between a pair of buildings, casting their eyes at no one but each other, and Lucy glances at them and smiles. In an open field just beyond the wall, she sees Susan sprawled on a blanket with a book and a visiting ambassador from another land, appearing extraordinarily interested in one and significantly less interested in the other.Sometimes, Lucy feels as though she is existing at the fringes of other people’s stories — watching their lives unfold around her as she goes nowhere — but she has faith that her time will come. Patience requires a certain brand of courage, and though that courage is occasionally hard to come by, she is and always will be Lucy the Valiant, Queen of Narnia.Written for the Narnia Fic Exchange.
Relationships: Edmund Pevensie & Lucy Pevensie & Peter Pevensie & Susan Pevensie
Comments: 7
Kudos: 35
Collections: Narnia Fic Exchange 2020





	Some Light Mischief

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rthstewart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rthstewart/gifts).



There is a brightness to the world. It sings and it dances and it shines upon the faces of all who are lucky enough to live in it.

It spurs Lucy’s feet forward as she darts down a corridor with her skirts held aloft and laughter spilling from her lungs. She snatched a letter from Edmund’s hand over breakfast when she caught him blushing. He practically leapt from his skin in embarrassment, sending food flying as he tried to steal it back before Lucy had a chance to read it. He was successful only in sending her running in pursuit of a secret place in which she might be able to pry in peace, as siblings are want to do.

Her nosiness is not born from malevolence. She is simply curious, and as the youngest, she has always delighted in keeping her brothers and sister on her toes. Though he is sometimes prone to bouts of grumbling and fussiness, she knows that Edmund doesn’t truly mind either. It isn’t as though she plans to taunt him before the court or drag him before a council for shaming. She merely has an interest in knowing _everything_ that is going on, and since she is not currently entertaining any prospects of love, it is only natural that she should take an interest in the intrigue unfolding around the others.

She glances back over her shoulder as she rounds a corner, just to make absolutely sure that Edmund has not followed her, and she collides with a wall of fur. The scent of forest leaves fills her nose and her mouth, and she coughs, as she steps backward, trying to look appropriately contrite.

“My apologies. I failed to look where I was going.”

Despite their formidable size, the Bulgy Bears are not fearsome creatures, however, they are afforded a great deal of respect, as is every citizen of Narnia.

There is a great shaking of heads and flickering of ears, and the Bulgy Bear exhales a breath that speaks to months of hibernation and makes Lucy’s nose itch most fiercely.

“Where are you off to in such a hurry, young one?”

Lucy drops her skirts and clasps her hands behind her back, tracing an idle finger over the raw edges of the borrowed letter. Her fingernail snags on the place where Edmund’s letter opener nicked the paper and tore the corner. “I was searching for a place to do a bit of reading,” she says, and it is not untrue.

The Bulgy Bear inclines his head and does not further question the matter. This is to be entirely expected of him, because though the Bulgy Bears are remarkably loyal, they have never been exceptionally clever.

Lucy smiles and takes a quick hop around him before continuing her run towards the doors. She takes a grand staircase two steps at a time and slinks past Peter’s open study door with bated breath. He, too, seems to be obsessed with a letter, running his eyes over a bit of parchment over and over again as his free hand toys with his quill.

Her curiosity stirs, and though the stolen letter burns her fingers, she pauses in her stealthiness long enough to clear her throat and asks, “Writing poetry again?”

Peter starts — a knight’s reflexes caught without a sword — and his errant hand sends ink flying. It drips into the wood of his desk and pools on the floor below, staining the carpet and seeping into the boards beneath. Lucy’s eyes follow the mess as a small wince scribes itself across her mouth, and she is careful to keep her feet beyond the threshold and stay well out of his way.

“No.“ Peter leans over towards a box beneath his desk, flipping it open and fumbling for a rag, and upon coming up short, merely stands to fetch a dirty tunic from its hook and drop it over the mess. “No. I was —“ There’s a moment of hesitation, and Lucy knows innately that he is searching for a way to stretch the truth without actually lying. “I was reviewing some numbers.”

“I see,” Lucy replies with all the hollowness of the thoroughly unconvinced as a hint of mischief sparkles in her eyes and settles into the curl of her lips.

Her brother runs a hand over his face, averting his eyes as he gazes upon the ink that is gradually seeping into his tunic, staining it with uneven splotches that will never wash out. “I have to clean this up, so if you don’t mind…”

Lucy nods, making a mental note to circle back to inquiring about Peter’s business at a more opportune time, and sets back down the hallway.

She throws the doors open and bathes in the sunlight as it warms her face and fills her gaze. A breeze curls about her ear, whispering of places unseen and lives touched, and a proud smile traipses across her lips. Her feet tap out an infectious rhythm upon the stone path as she works her way towards the forest that lies beyond these walls. She has always felt safest there in the forest with the dryads, surrounded by waking trees and the faintest hint of song. The woods make her think of the wonder of first stepping into Narnia all that time ago, back when it was covered in snow and held tightly in the White Witch’s grip.

She hurries past open gates and propped doors and hears the roar of a blacksmith’s shop and the clopping of hooves as she passes a group of centaurs. There’s a young faun couple pressed into the tight space between a pair of buildings, casting their eyes at no one but each other, and Lucy glances at them and smiles. In an open field just beyond the wall, she sees Susan sprawled on a blanket with a book and a visiting ambassador from another land, appearing extraordinarily interested in one and significantly less interested in the other.

Sometimes, Lucy feels as though she is existing at the fringes of other people’s stories — watching their lives unfold around her as she goes nowhere — but she has faith that her time will come. Patience requires a certain brand of courage, and though that courage is occasionally hard to come by, she is and always will be Lucy the Valiant, Queen of Narnia.

The air feels a bit cooler against her skin as she steps out of the sun and into the shaded caress of the forest. The buzz of life runs beneath her feet and in her ears, and memory carries her to her favorite place. On her way, she passes a moose fording a narrow stream. She inclines her head towards it in greeting, and he inclines his head in return, his majestic crown of antlers rendered almost ethereal in the dappled summer light of the woods. They do not stop to speak to each other. Lucy merely hurries on.

Eventually, she emerges in her favored clearing. On one side, a pair of dryads converse, humming to each other in the way that dryads often do. Lucy smiles at them as she collapses into the grass with a great huffing of breath and a flare of her skirts. Her heart flutters with excitement as she finally unfolds the letter, eager to catch a glimpse into Edmund’s secrets and find someway to nudge him closer to whoever it is that he currently fancies, but instead, she is treated with a three simple words penned in his own hand.

 _Got you, Lu_.

A laugh flows from her lungs, delighted at the prank. The very forest itself seems to join in on the merriment and giggle alongside her, and when she is finally spent, she falls back into the plush grass with a crown of soft clovers around her head, and begins to plot a clever way to fool him back.


End file.
